


Attitude Check

by rosethornash



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), peter parker - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Cunt slapping, Dark Character, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vaginal Sex, mr steal yo girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosethornash/pseuds/rosethornash
Summary: peter can’t handle your attitude any longer, so he fucks you until all you can do is scream his name, making you forget all about the date you were supposed to go on that night.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader, Peter Parker/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 70





	Attitude Check

Peter has simply had enough of your unbelievably relentless attitude. 

God, you couldn’t even hold a normal conversation with him without throwing out a sarcastic remark or an irritatingly sassy comment. He shouldn’t let it bother him. He has known you for years. He knows this is unequivocally you. You’ve been in constant trouble with teachers, parents, other authority figures for ages and ages simply because of your mouth -- that sassy, unstoppable, perfect mouth of yours. 

The curve of your lips is probably Peter’s favourite thing to stare at to pass the time. Your plump lips, so soft looking, so inviting, so enticing. He’s gotten himself so worked up before just staring at it, thinking about all you could do to him with that godforsaken angelic yet annoying mouth. 

“Peter?” Your voice grounds him back to earth. He’s fixated on your mouth again, the way the words roll off your lips like a gentle kiss. 

“Hmm?” he hums. He hadn’t heard what you said, and he would prefer if he did not get caught gawking at you today of all days. 

“Are you not going to say anything back?” you ask. Your brows are furrowed tight, a frown tugging the corners of your lips downwards. Fuck. Peter hates being the reason behind this expression. 

“About…?” He has no choice but to bite the bullet. 

“About my date tonight. Do you even listen to what I say?” you huff, pushing back your seat to the university cafe you two had been studying peacefully at. 

“I-I-” Peter really needs to dig himself out of this one. But his mind is racing. You have a date? Tonight? “I’m sorry.” He thumps his ink pen in his hand against the scribbled notebook next to his open textbook. “I’m just stressed about this exam. Can you repeat what you said please? I’m all ears now.”

His heart thumps nervously in his chest until he notices your expression start to soften, and you plop back down into the wooden chair. Your arms fold across your chest, and your gaze shifts out the window, but Peter knows you well enough to understand that it’s actually a good sign, and you’re giving him a second chance. 

Once he sees your shoulders start to relax, he slides his rather clammy hand across the table and takes hold of your hand. Your eyes meet his, dazzling in the light peering in from the cafe window.

“Please?” he asks again, softer this time.

With a roll of your eyes, you sigh dramatically. Peter’s jaw instinctually clenches. “I was saying,” you emphasize. God, he wishes he could put you in your place sometimes. Tame that brash little mouth. “He’s supposed to be picking me up from my dorm, but I don’t want him to know where I live. Can I give him the frat’s address instead? I will just be there for a few minutes before he picks me up.”

Peter’s head nods before he can process what you’ve asked. He’s too focused on the fact that you just completely ruined his plan for him to tell you how he feels about you. 

He had it all planned out -- the wine in the fridge which he threatened harm to his frat brothers if they even thought about touching it, the collection of blankets for a cozy fort, a projector he borrowed from his favourite professor. It was supposed to be magical. He was supposed to hold you close, whisper little things in your ear that make you giggle, finally tell you how in love with you he is. But not now. Now you have a date with someone else...again.

“Okay,” you sigh, starting to pack up your things. Peter does so as well, slowly shoving his textbook and laptop into his backpack. “I’ll see you around 8 then.”

He hardly has time to say goodbye before you’re out the door and practically skipping down the sidewalk to your dorm. Peter rolls his eyes, huffing as he slings his bag over his shoulder. Maybe he should just tell you before your date without the rest of the romantic gesture. As soon as the idea crosses his mind, he dismisses it. 

Truth be told, he already knows it won’t work out between the two of you. No one has learned to put up with your attitude quite like Peter has. Even your mother calls him a saint for dealing with you. He’d never tell you that, of course. 

He sighs as he strolls back to the frat house. Next time, he needs to jump at the opportunity when you come over crying on his shoulder after the guy ghosts you or you find him sleeping with a different girl down the hall like last time. 

Only a couple hours pass before his phone rings on his bedside table, waking him from an all too short nap. Peter groggily reaches for it, swiping the answer button and putting the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” he groans. 

“It's a facetime, Peter. Drop the phone away from your ear I don’t want to see that,” your voice booms through the line. 

After letting out a puff of air and rubbing his eyes, Peter holds his phone so he can view his screen, and his jaw nearly drops to the floor. He’s seen you in a swimsuit before, but never like this. Your bra pushes your boobs up higher than they usually sit on your chest, the deep red hues of your lingerie accentuating your skin tone wonderfully. You’re fumbling around with something in your closet, tongue held between your teeth. An immediate rush of heat travels south, and he groans out loud as his head flops down on the pillow. 

“What do you think of this one, Pete?” You don’t seem to notice what you do to him--you never do. “It might be too short.”

Peter licks his lips, eyeing the dress you’re holding up. “I don’t know,” he grumbles. 

He’s not about to help you pick out an outfit for some other guy, that’s way too much for him to handle. If you end up sleeping with the guy, he wouldn’t be able to shake the thought that he had assisted the progression of events, and that is the last thing Peter wants to deal with right now.

“Come on,” you whine, your shrill voice pulling tension to Peter’s jaw. “Help me choose.”

“The other one,” he answers, not looking at the screen. His mind is already picturing how you’re going to look so beautiful and walk right out his door into someone else’s arms. 

“You didn’t even look, you jerkface.”

“Because I know nothing about dresses, y/n. And frankly, I don’t give a fuck about what you’re wearing tonight.” He bites his tongue as soon as the brash words leave his mouth. 

“Fine then, fuck you too. At least I have a date,” you snap back before hanging up the phone. 

Peter’s hands cover his eyes, swiping down over the stress lines deepening his features. Fuck. One step forward, two steps backward….more like five or six at this point. 

After tossing and turning not being able to fall back asleep, Peter reaches for his phone once more. He quickly taps out a short “I’m sorry...red looks nice on you” message to make peace before you come over later. When all he gets back is “whatever,” he grips his phone so tight in frustration, he nearly crumbles the damn thing. 

The rest of the evening passes quickly much to Peter’s demise. He’s retrieved the fancy bottle of wine and downed the entire thing knowing it was fair game to the rest of the house once the weekend rolled around. The alcohol hardly affects him, but it’s almost sadistically comforting watching the way the bottle drains like his hopes of ever being with you. 

His last moments of peace come to a close when he hears your soft taps on the other side of his door. Peter pads over to the door, a surge of annoyance swelling inside of him when he sees what you’re wearing--the red dress he texted you about, matching lipstick, and a goddamn smile. 

Your expression falters, and you pass him a concerned look when you walk in and he doesn’t speak to you. His jaw sets when your hands come to rest on your hips like the sassy devil you are. 

“Are you alright, Pete? You seem… irritated,” you word it carefully for once.

Peter grits his teeth, stomping towards you. He’s had enough. It’s suddenly all he can do not to completely lose his temper with you. “I am irritated dammit.” When he reaches you, he swiftly pins your hands above your head, your back colliding with the wall. “You fucking drive me up the wall sometimes.”

“Jesus. Chill the fuck out,” you bite back.

“I can’t just ‘chill the fuck out,’” he mocks. “You’re about to leave here in a pretty little number that I helped pick out only to be wooed by a sorry excuse of a man. I am the farthest thing from chill right now.” He leans into you, stepping in between your parted legs as your arms fall to rest by your side. His voice drops low. “And you want to know the worst part of it all?”

You gulp. 

“Your goddamn attitude. I wish I could fuck it right out of you.”

A snarl spreads across your face and a sneer across Peter’s. The final straw. “You know, on second thought,” he whispers darkly. A shiver shoots down your spine. “I think I will.”

And then he’s kissing you.

He’s so elated that your lips are pressed against his that the fact that you’re not kissing him back doesn’t bother him. He’s warm and tingly all over, arm braced around you so tight he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. His other hand is shoved into your hair, straining as he holds you in place.

Your lips are so soft like little pillows, and you taste sweet like cherries. He doesn’t think he can get enough.

When he snakes his tongue to run over your lips, he hisses when your teeth clamp down on the tip of his tongue. He merely readjusts his hand to cup your jaw firmly, letting himself kiss you and taste you without worrying about you nipping at him again. Though it did send a shiver of pleasurable pain to his pulsing cock. Perhaps he could explore that next time.

Next time. Peter knows in his gut there’s going to be a next time. How could there not be? You are his now, and he would not let anything jeopardize that.

Reaching under the skirt of your dress, Peter cups your heat. You’re so warm, and the way you’re squirming only spurs him on. He wants you writhing under his touch so bad his fingers itch for more. More skin, more warmth, more of you.

His touch breeches the hem of your panties, tugging them down your thighs as his fingers make contact with your bundle of nerves. He feels you gasp into his mouth, a sly smirk ghosting over his lips.

“You like that?” he mumbles. “You should. You should be thanking me for putting you in your place, showing you how you should act.”

He leans in impossibly closer. “I’m going to break you.” His voice is deep, rattling your nerves more. “And then I’m going to show you how much I love you.

As soon as the words leave his tongue, he smiles wide. Your eyes go wider, and he doesn’t have to force your movements to still. And suddenly he’s angry again. How could you be so blind? How could you not know?

Peter releases your jaw, and he’s seething. He watches you swallow hard, jaw shifting to recover from his firm grip. “Tell me you knew,” he demands. He has to know if you’ve been leading him on this whole time. 

“Pete-”

“Tell me,” his husky voice is the lowest you’ve ever heard it. “Tell me you knew I loved you.”

“I-I-” 

Peter has never seen you speechless before. He smirks to himself. He could get used to that. 

“I didn’t.” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t, I swear.”

Drawing a hand to your face, Peter caresses the curve of your temple down to underneath your chin. He shushes you, cooing softly. “It’s okay.” He leans in, and your noses nudge. “I forgive you.”

A small whimper leaves your lips when his hand clamps down over your mouth. Peter goes silent, listening intently. He hears footsteps walking up to the front door. 

In one swift movement, he picks you up and tosses you on his bed, crawling over you with his hand still fastened tight. With his free hand, he manages to unbutton his jeans and push them and his boxers down his thighs. This isn’t how he wants your first time to be, but he needs to claim you, make you forget about who’s about to knock on the door. 

“Look, princess,” Peter says, resting his hard cock on your stomach. Your eyes follow his command, drifting over the view of his length. “See how far in I’ll go? See how far you’ll have me inside of you?” 

He licks his lips, rolling his hips back to position himself at your entrance. He eases in. You’re not quite wet enough, but he pushes in anyways, muffling the sounds of your moans with his hand. 

“Good girl,” he coos when he bottoms out. His free hand travels between your legs to rub your clit, your walls clenching around him as soon as he makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves. You could have told him you didn’t want it, but he can tell from the way your body is reacting to his touch that you do. Maybe you love him too. Maybe you’ve wanted him all along as well. 

As he starts to thrust into you, he hears the guy’s footsteps thump against the stairs. Peter quickens his pace. He wants the guy to hear you. He wants him to know you’re no longer interested, too busy being pleasured by who you rightfully belong with. 

Rolls of his hips raise sounds of slapping skin in the air. Your eyes are pinched closed, your heavy breaths puffing out against his palm. Each time Peter’s cock drags deep inside of you, your toes curl, a grunt or a moan or a mewl leaving your lips. He’s not worried about his brothers hearing him; these noises are heard at all times of the day in a frat house, but he wishes the two of you were alone so he could release his hand and hear how perfect you sound falling apart for him. 

As Peter hikes your leg over his waist to get a better angle, he can hear your date asking for you in the hallway, his fraternity brother directing him to Peter’s room. A smirk spreads across his lips. Now is his chance to scare him off, rid himself of the burden of someone else thinking he has a chance with you. 

Cautiously, Peter loosens his hand over your mouth, the clearer sound of your noises ringing out. You're calling Peter’s name, panting heavily, sweat glistening on your forehead and in the valley between your breasts. You’re perfect--perfectly his. 

As the guy’s footsteps approach his door, he stops. Peter imagines him listening to the sound of your voice with his brows furrowed trying to determine if it’s really you screaming Peter’s name in pleasure. 

And then he’s gone, down the stairs, out the door. 

A new wave of confidence fills Peter as your nails dig into his muscular back, red lines carving into his pale skin. He’s giving you all he has, pace becoming irregular as he feels you start to squeeze him. You’re close. He’s about to make you cum. 

“Let go, princess,” he says. You’re mesmerizing with the way your face contorts when you flutter around his cock, falling apart for him for the first time with a cry of his name. He doesn’t stop until he’s painting your pussy white with his seed, hot spurts filling you like it is meant to be. 

He pulls out of you, watching his cum drip out of you slow and steady as your chest heaves to regain breath. His hand falls on your cunt, slapping it and pulling a gasp from your mouth. Peter immediately leans over to kiss you hard, bruising, a kiss you’ll never forget. When he finally pulls away, he mumbles, “I better have fucked the attitude right out of you, because you’re mine now, princess.”


End file.
